


the best things in life

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Arsenal FC, M/M, hints of Carlamberlain, hints of Flamozil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5954626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calum isn't trying to imitate Aaron with his hairdo. He's not. No matter what Chambo says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best things in life

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon who wanted this pairing. I hope you see this.
> 
> Title is from Ed Sheeran's 'A-Team' because it's Rambo's fave song.
> 
> Hover over the French for the translation!

 

 

It’s Chambo who first points it out. He and Calum are putting the finishing touches on their respective hairdos in the locker room bathroom, engaged in their now comfortable banter.

  


Or rather, Chambo is blathering on (about Jenko, probably) and Calum is trying in vain to push one stubborn strand of hair into place by any means necessary.

  


“Hey, you know,” Chambo says, frowning at their reflection in the mirror, “you kind of look like Rambo with this hair.”

  


There’s a long pregnant pause, in which Calum is definitely expected to reply with something bantery, or at least some sort of denial, but he’s suddenly frozen, and Chambo’s frown slowly morphs into a sly smile.

  


“Why, Calum, I didn’t know you felt that way about our Aaron. Do you also have his picture up on your wall? Maybe framed on your bedside?” he says, and Calum immediately realizes his mistake when Chambo starts making his way towards the door. “Do you want to be _just like him_ , Calum?”

  


“No, Chambo, wait…” It’s too late. Chambo’s already out the door.

  


“Hey, guys! Calum loves Rambo! He loves him so much he wants to be just like him, he’s even got his haircut!”

  


Calum stands stock still, watching his own wide-eyed expression in the mirror.

  


“Better go after him, mate,” Flamini says from his post at the urinal. Next to him, Mesut smiles encouragingly.

  


Calum bolts. The hair he’d tried so hard to contain flops onto his forehead.

  
  


*

  
  


After that it becomes unbearable.

  


“Hey Calum, did you take that blazer from Aaron’s closet?” is yelled after him when he comes onto the bus for an away game.

  


“Your hair looks especially ‘Ramsey style’ today!”

  


“Hey, Calum, learnt any Welsh lately?”

  


“Rambo, I mean, Calum, sorry about that, mate.”

  


“Aw, look, he’s blushing!”

  


Calum walks as calmly as possible through the onslaught, his face absolutely flaming red, cursing his pale skin for always betraying him. He sinks into his seat next to a cackling Chambo, and determinately doesn’t look in Aaron’s direction.

  
  
  


*

  
  


The problem with Olivier is that he’s somehow gotten it in his head that he’s Arsenal’s resident love expert, just because he’s French and has watched Love Actually more times than a human strictly should. Calum’s got a hidden suspicion that he’s pining for Debuch and taking it out on other people, but he’s not about to voice it to anyone, because Olivier is positively frightening when he’s mad and he’s certain Chambo will just throw him under the bus.

  


Olivier isn’t really a problem, when he’s following Mesut and Flam around with a sprig of mistletoe in order to give them “the beautiful experience of a first kiss”. Apparently, he’s the only one that doesn’t know that Flam and Mesut have been making-out for months now, but they certainly seem to think that the green plant he waves at them is entirely harmless.

  


So, Olivier’s romantic hobbies don’t really bother him, provided that Olivier stops creeping up on him at various moments during the day with earnest advice for him to woo Aaron with.

  


“How it is that you English put it, Calum?” is one of his favorite openings, “Imitation is the best form of flattery?”

  


“Oli, don’t.”

  


“But you know how boys are,” Olivier says, slinging an arm around Calum’s shoulders and flatly ignoring his disgruntled look, “they don’t see the subtle things. Which is why you should tell him about your feelings!”

  


“I’d rather not.”

  


“But Calum! If you don’t try, you’re just setting yourself up for failure!”

  


Calum shrugs Olivier’s arm off and stands, resigned to the fact that at this point he might as well ask the kit men to put ‘TOMATO’ on his kit instead.

  


“There’s nothing there to try!” Calum says desperately, backing up towards the exit.

  


“Oh, Calum,” Olivier looks at him mournfully, “there’s nothing to be ashamed of. If you’d like to express your feelings for Aaron by exactly mimicking the way he cuts his beard, you can go right ahead. I’m just saying that there’s maybe more productive ways, like shoving your tongue down his throat in front of a majestic sunset.”

  


Calum’s had enough.

  


“Would you all just stop! I'm not imitating Rambo’s beard! I’m not imitating his hair either! I don’t want to shove my tongue down his throat and I certainly don’t have any feelings for him!”

  
  


Several things happen at once. Olivier’s eyes go almost comically wide, Chambo finally stops managing to contain his laughter, and Calum bumps into something warm and solid that definitely isn’t the door.

  


“I’m hurt,” says a low voice in his ear. “I thought we were friends, Calum.”

  


Calum turns around in slow motion, to come face to face with Aaron Ramsey’s forehead. He looks town to meet hazel eyes, crinkled playfully, and a grin exposing a set of blinding white teeth. Aaron has dimples. How has Calum never noticed that he’s got dimples?

  


Calum makes an incoherent noise of rage, sidesteps him and runs out the door, slamming it behind him with a loud thump.

  


In the corner, Chambo, who’s been snapchating the whole thing to Jenko, almost laughs himself to death.

  
  


*

  
  


After that, there’s a notable reduction of times that Calum gets reminded of looking like Aaron. In fact, it stops completely, except for the occasional knowing look and the unusually frequent times he gets left alone with Aaron in empty rooms, closets and training fields. But Aaron doesn’t mention anything about Calum’s ill-advised yelling and he’s always so very kind, helping Calum with his free kicks or slotting him passes so Calum can score with a header.

  


If he notices the way Calum’s blush never quite goes away, he never says anything.

  


Calum thinks that’s the end of that.

  


He’s wrong.

  
  


*

  
  


The next away game requires a hotel stay. This is ordinarily never a problem. Calum is used to hotels. He’s used to rooming with Chambo, or Theo or with any of the other lads.

  


He’s not used to rooming with Aaron.

  


But that’s fine, probably one of the others will be willing to exchange his keycard. Maybe he could be roommates with Per again, even though the man snored like a freight train and more than often Calum found himself exiled to the bathroom or to the lounge to get even a wink of sleep.

  


No one wants to exchange keycards. In fact, all of them take off running when they see him coming, giggling like little girls with a secret.

  


Which is how he finds himself standing in front of a hotel room, with the uncomfortable feeling that he’s just been played.

  


He takes a deep breath and swipes the card, pushing his way inside when the light turns green. It’s obvious that Aaron’s already made himself comfortable. His sneakers are strewn across the small hallway and Calum almost trips over them when he walks in.

  


He lines them up carefully alongside his own.

  


When he actually walks inside the room they’ll be sharing, his eyes inevitably zero in on Aaron, who’s sprawled across one of the beds with his laptop. His feet are bare. Calum’s seen them at least a hundred times at this point, but that’s all it takes for warmth to bloom on his cheeks.

  


Aaron’s put some music on and when he sees Calum, he looks up and offers him a smile. He’s playing an Ed Sheeran song.

  


“Oh, hey,” Calum remarks, going for casual, “the A-Team, right? I love that song.”

  


Aaron’s smile grows bigger. “Of course you do,” he says and Calum immediately feels his hackles rise.

  


“I’m not trying to imitate you, or anything,” he says, “I really do like that song.”

  


“No, I wasn’t trying to imply you did,” Aaron says. He’s still smiling that stupid gentle smile that makes warmth pool in the pit of Calum’s stomach. “I was just thinking about how similar our tastes are. How well we’d work together, you know, that kind of thing.”

  


Calum stares at him, silently, for long enough that Aaron’s smile starts slipping.

  


“That kind of thing,” Calum says, swallowing past a lump in his throat. “Right. Of course. Er. What kind of thing are we talking about now?”

  


“Well,” Aaron starts, then stops, and there are those dimples again. He moves the laptop from his lap and onto the floor. Ed Sheeran moves on to another song. Meanwhile, Calum stares in frozen awe and dawning realization.

  


Aaron shifts over and pats the bed next to him. It looks very welcoming. Calum swallows.

  


“Calum? Calum, breathe, I think you’re going to burst into flame,” Aaron says and he sounds concerned. Calum puts his hands over his flushed cheeks and groans. “Are you okay? It was just a suggestion.”

  


“I just...what were you suggesting? I don’t remember any actual words being exchanged. You could be asking me to watch cat videos or something-”

  


“Calum,” Aaron says gently, “I was just wondering if your feelings about shoving your tongue down my throat have changed since the last time. Or was I wrong? We could still just watch cat videos.”

  


“Oh,” Calum manages to say. He’s feeling a little faint, so he crosses the space to the bed and plops down next to Aaron. When Aaron throws an arm around his shoulder, he leans into it instinctively. “I didn’t realize make-outs were an option.”

  


“You can think about it,” Aaron says, smiling, “no rush.”

  


Calum looks up at him from where he’s sprawled on the bed. Aaron’s smile is gentle and patient, the crinkles around his eyes in full devastating effect. His beard looks soft and his lips inviting.

 

“I may have spoken in the heat of the moment,” Calum breathes. “I think this is a yes to the make-outs.”

  


“Oh, good!” Aaron says and kisses him.

  


It’s not one of those movie kisses, where sunsets randomly sprout in the background, but it’s a great kiss anyway. Aaron’s lips are warm and firm, and they slide smoothly against his own slightly chapped ones. His beard tickles softly on Calum’s cheek. It’s almost chaste until Calum gets impatient and bites on Aaron’s bottom lip gently, sucking on it afterward. Things get decidedly less chaste after that.

  


Aaron laughs against his lips, pulls back so they can both catch their breath. He smooths his hand down Calum’s hair, upsetting the carefully crafted hairdo.

  


“It’s like looking into a mirror,” he says, and laughs even harder when Calum frowns at him.

  


“You say that again and I’m walking out,” Calum says, but he’s already grabbing him by the front of the shirt to pull him back into the kiss.

  


Ed Sheeran plays softly in the background.

  
  


*

  
  


_‘I got my boy laid’_ Chambo sends to Jenko, grinning contentedly.

  


_'[Cupidon a encore touché la cible en plein coeur, mon trésor,’ ](//)_ Olivier texts to Debuchy, sighing longingly at the thoughts of the long miles that separate them. Maybe next week he could pop over for a visit? Cupids also deserve rewards, after all.

  


Mesut lays his head contentedly on Flam’s shoulder, while the rest of the squad celebrates around them, toasting their matchmaking prowess with water and juice.

  


Arsene, caught up in the proceedings, thinks longingly of the tactical plans and the bottle of wine he’s got stashed in his room.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr.](https://neyvenger.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I DON'T EVEN GO HERE.


End file.
